Place Your Bets
by Shadow of Light
Summary: Boys will be boys. The men share a special moment at camp during the Blight...wagers are made...who will triumph? Alistair, Zevran, Sten, Oghren & Dog feature.


_Author's Note: Written for the weekly Zevran Prompt at BSN. Time limit was one hour, and the prompt was "First Kiss". I had fun with this one, so enjoy! :D_

* * *

"Five silvers on the nug-licker," Oghren said.

"Hmmm. Ten for me, on the mabari," Alistair said.

"Ooh, feeling _brave_, little pike-twirler? Fine, fine. What do you say to _fifteen_?"

"I say 'Hello, my shiny little friends! You will buy Alistair a small mountain of fine cheeses when he wins this bet!'"

"Feh, not on your best day, Chantry-boy. No way that sodding mutt's gonna beat a master assassin like Zevran, right? Eh? Elf?"

"If the captive audience does not mind," Zevan said calmly, his face a mere hand-span from Ferrix's muzzle and his golden eyes not making the smallest flicker away from the mabari's brown ones, "this demands a great deal of concentration. Please, a little quiet."

An almost reverent silence fell as elf and dog stared at each either, the Crow kneeling and the mabari sitting on his haunches so that their eyes were level, neither so much as blinking.

A shadow loomed over the two combatants.

"What is the point of this ritual?" Sten's voice demanded.

"Ritual? It's a sodding _bet_, qunari," Oghren informed him. "The elf's giving us a demonstration of his cat-like reflexes."

Sten stared downwards with no noticeable change in expression. After a couple of seconds, when no one moved, he asked, "When is this 'demonstration' due to begin?"

"It goes whenever one of them moves first," Alistair explained. "Zevran reckons that he can move faster than Ferrix. Personally I think he doesn't have a chance…Ferrix can outrun him even on a bad day, right boy?"

The mabari's eyes remained unwavering, but his short tail wagged.

"Not so!" Zevran protested mildly. "If I poisoned him he would not be able to run far, true? Ha ha, I jest! Stop growling at me!"

"Aannnyyyway," Alistair said, "it's quite simple, really. Ferrix is going to try and give Zev a big lick across the face. All _Zevran _has to do is be quick enough to see it coming and get out of the way."

"This is pointless," Sten said flatly, looking at the dog. "You should simply pin your adversary to the ground. Victory would be yours."

"Nope, that's against the rules," Oghren said. "A lunge and a big ol' wet dog-kiss. Except it aint gonna happen that way."

"Indeed?"

"Yep! Sodding dog don't stand a chance. The elf'll get out of the way, no problem."

"Your confidence is truly inspiring, ser," Zevran purred.

"That's what I'm here for," Oghren said, downing a mouthful of ale and belching loudly. "Just call me the cheerleader for Team Zevran."

"What a frightening vision you have just conjured…"

"Interesting," Sten said. "But incorrect. I have seen both the elf and the mabari on the field of battle. It is clear that only the warhound will triumph in this…demonstration."

"Hah!" Alistair punched Oghren's arm. "See? Sten's on my side! Go Ferrix!"

"Oh…_yeah? _Well…put your money where your mouth is! Fifteen silvers, qunari! You in or are you a coward?"

"…it is cowardice to not contribute coin in this venture?"

"And if—_when _Ferrix wins, you get more back," Alistair said cheerfully. "So you can buy…uh…cookies? Or another painting?"

"Antivan artists do some fascinating things with pastels," Zevran offered. "I knew a fine oil painter once! A beautiful silver-haired creature who wanted to paint me unclothed, reclining upon a crimson-upholstered chaise lounge for the price of a single gold sovereign. If you wish to add a true masterpiece to that collection of yours, I would be pleased to donate it to you. Oh, I could even sign it!"

"Fifteen silvers on the mabari," Sten said flatly.

"Ah, confidence! That is what I like to hear."

After a moment of dramatic staring, there was a rustle of footsteps—unheeded, and then the disapproving voice of Alistair's fellow Grey Warden.

"What in _Thedas _is going on here? You men are supposed to be on watch!"

Oghren, Alistair and Ferrix jumped guiltily at Asleena's rebuke—and as soon as the mabari's head turned Zevran _lunged_. His arms wrapped around the warhound's neck and he barely managed to plant a kiss on the animal's muzzle before it pulled away with a startled yelp and fled to its mistress's side.

"A-ha!" Zevran laughed, half-sprawled on the ground as he propped himself up with one arm, chin on fist. "That would be a victory to me, no?"

"And thirty silvers to me!" Oghren gloated, extending one hand to Alistair and the other to Sten. "Cough up and make it snappy! Come to Oghren!"

"That so doesn't count!" Alistair protested.

Asleena, flanked by Leliana, Morrigan and Wynne, took in the scene, the arguing dwarf and Templar, Sten's usual deadpan expression, the smirking elf reclining on the grass and the mabari cowering behind her own legs, then said, "Zevran?"

"Yes, my Grey Warden?"

"Why did you just kiss my dog?"


End file.
